


pieces of evening and unglooming peace

by lotts (LottieAnna)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Getting Together, M/M, Romeo and Juliet references abound, Summer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-05-03 16:29:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14573001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LottieAnna/pseuds/lotts
Summary: A ball hockey love story.





	pieces of evening and unglooming peace

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alcoholandregret](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alcoholandregret/gifts).



> IF YOU FOUND THIS THROUGH GOOGLING, KNOW ANYONE MENTIONED IN THIS STORY PERSONALLY, OR ARE MENTIONED YOURSELF: please, please click away. This is a work of fiction and nothing written in this story is true. Any accurate information used in this story is publicly available information about public figures, the rest is made up, 100%.
> 
> technically, this is also a college au.
> 
> thanks to ash and ang and rachel for beta reading this!

  _Two households, both alike in ball hockey,_

_In Mississauga, where we lay our scene,_

_From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,_

_Where Lorne Park mud makes Lorne Park hands unclean._

 

* * *

 

There is a block in the north-east corner of Lorne Park known for a few things: families with a tendency to produce NHL talent, a kick-ass book club, and a legendary ball hockey game that happens at the end of every summer.

If a ball hockey game is legendary, it tends to be because it’s a fun neighborhood-wide event, with pizza and laughter and kids forgetting to reapply sunblock. Its legend should stem from fond memories and the roots of lifelong friendships that are planted there, and a bizarre anecdote of future talent playing together for nothing more than passion for the game. It should be a cute story that starts with a bunch of kids who love to share in the sport of hockey together more than anything else in the world, and a community of people who want to give them a chance to play.

The legend of Lorne Park ball hockey is different, though.

This is a legend that starts in blood.

 

Okay, this is a legend that starts with Mikey McLeod on a swing set, and then falling off the swing set, but, like. There’s blood involved.

Dylan tells the story as this super dramatic thing, where like, Mikey tricked him into pushing him on the swing, then jumped off, acted like he was hurt, pretended to cry in front of their moms, and then the second their backs were turned, he stopped and gave Dylan an evil wink, then started crying again as soon as they were looking at him.

According to Ryan McLeod, Mikey just kind of grumbles, “He was an asshole who pushed me off the fucking swing.”

If Matty had to guess, what probably happened was that Mikey fell off the swing while Dylan was pushing him, and, because he was four years old, he assumed Dylan had pushed him off. But that’s only an educated guess, because no one really knows what happened between Mikey and Dylan that fateful afternoon. The only two witnesses were Mikey and Dylan themselves, who, in addition to being incredibly biased, were four and five years old, respectively, so really, who’s to say.

“It doesn’t matter,” Ryan tells Matty, rolling his eyes. “It was literally fifteen years ago. Who cares?”

“Clearly they do,” Matty says, and then he squeezes Ryan’s hand. “S’okay, though, I forgive you for the sins of your brother.”

“Thanks,” Ryan says, dry as always.

It’s July, and they are walking on a poorly-lit block after dark, because Matty’s been volunteering to take Oscar on his last walk of the night all summer. This is because Dylan retreats to the basement as soon as he does, and on days when Mikey is hanging out with Nate—so, days that end with ‘y’—Matty and Ryan can meet up and walk him together without fear of being caught.

“It’s really stupid that they hate each other,” Matty says.

“Well, it’s not just about the swing,” Ryan says. “They’re just really similar people.”

“Don’t really similar people tend to get along?”

“Sometimes,” Ryan says. “But sometimes it’s too much Extra for one friendship to handle, so it explodes and they turn into enemies.”

“Guess that explains the crater in the wall,” Matty says, teasing very slightly, but enough that Ryan picks up on it.

“Not that kind of explosion, idiot,” Ryan says. “A metaphorical one.”

“Wow, he knows how to use a metaphor,” Matty says. “College has changed you. They’ve made you smart.”

“Fuck off, I’ve always been smart,” Ryan says, but this time, he’s smiling.

 

It’s not like Matty’s ever had any beef with the McLeods.

It’s not like Dylan does either, beyond Mikey. The McLeods and Stromes have, historically, gotten along great, and that’s probably made the shit between Dylan and Mikey that much worse. Besides the not-so-subtle comparisons to each other by their parents. and having to see each other every day in high school and having more than a few friends in common, there are always barbeques and dinners and shared holidays that force close contact.

On such occasions, Dylan’s always clung to Matty, and Mikey’s always clung to Ryan, and both of them stood awkwardly next to their brothers as they glared at each other from across the room.

Matty’s Ryan and Ryan’s Matt don’t seem to have any issues with each other, but then again, Matty’s Ryan has always been more or less an adult, and Ryan’s Matt has always spent most of these things on his phone.

But Matty went to high school with Ryan McLeod for four years, played on a few Minor teams with him, and when they ended up at the same college, they went from former best friends and current family friends to plain-old best friends again.

And they’ve also kissed a few times, which they’re probably going to have to address eventually, but it’s tricky, because they didn’t get a chance to talk about it while they were at school, and now they’re back home, and it’s a hassle to get a chance to talk at all. When they get a rare moment of actual privacy, they’re not gonna waste it on unpleasant conversations that put butterflies in Matty’s stomach.

“So, Matthew,” Dylan says, flopping down next to Matty on the couch, which scares Oscar off of Matty’s lap, much to his annoyance. “I hope that McLeod kid isn’t giving you too much shit.”

Matty freezes, which is dumb. This is Dylan being weird, which is something Matt has been taking in stride for years.

“He’s fine,” Matty says. “Why would he be giving me shit?”

“Because his brother is a fucking liar, and he probably taught him how to lie,” Dylan says.

“You know who else is a liar?” Matty says. “Most people, when they’re four.”

“He’s evil,” Dylan says. “I saw _Rosemary’s Baby_ the other day—”

“Are you really about to try and convince me that our neighbor is the literal, actual devil, just because he might have lied about you pushing him off a swing when he was four years old?”

“You know, anything can sound ridiculous if you phrase it the right way.”

“Oh, please, enlighten me as to how you could phrase that so it doesn’t sound ridiculous.”

“I don’t trust Mikey, and his brother is, like, the exact same person, so I don’t trust him either.”

And Matty probably shouldn’t, but he can’t really help it when he bursts out laughing.

“Dude, you barely know either of them,” he says. “Ry is _nothing_ like Mikey, oh my god.”

“Ry?” Dylan says, squinting. “Is that a nickname?”

“It’s a shorter version of Ryan, jesus christ,” Matty says. “You don’t have to be so paranoid.”

“Just checking that you didn’t go off to college and friend-up a McLeod behind my back,” Dylan says.

A part of Matty is tempted to ask what Dylan would do if he had, but he’s a little afraid of the answer, right now, because—

Like, his brother is a total freak, but Matty loves him. The issue is, he also really, really likes Ryan, and he’d rather not be cornered into choosing just because Dylan’s in particularly anti-McLeod mood.

 

_Stromeo: my brother thinks ur brother is the devil_

_Juliet: interesting_

_Juliet: can neither confirm nor deny_

_Stromeo: fair enough lol_

_Stromeo: wanna go on a road trip this weekend?_

_Stromeo: just for the day_

_Juliet: where?_

_Stromeo: you’ll see ;)_

_Stromeo: so? yes or no?_

_Juliet: okay_

_Stromeo: :D_

 

* * *

 

 The first time Matty and Ryan had kissed, Matty technically shouldn’t have known it was Ryan. Like, there’s some plausible deniability there.

It had been at the afterparty for some campus organization’s Halloween party, which had been a ‘masquerade ball.’ all that really meant was that they handed out flimsy plastic masks at the door in addition to free food, but most people wore them to the afterparty, because it was easier than carrying them.

Matty was there because the formal had been hosted by, like, a friend of a friend’s a capella group, or something? And because his friend was one of the co hosts of the afterparty, and because the cost of getting into said afterparty was literally attending a free dinner. It was a no-brainer, really.

He’s not really sure why Ryan was there, but he’d worn a mask to the afterparty, which means he’d probably been at the event earlier, too.

In any event. Ryan and Matty were both wearing masks, and sure, the masks were like, sheets of paper, and Matty’s known Ryan for so many years he really should have no trouble recognizing him, but Ryan hadn’t recognized Matty, so.

Which might also have been him pretending, now that Matty thinks about it, but also, the lights had been dim. Matty had only recognized Ryan because of the distinctive hair and missing tooth. He remembers when Ryan lost that tooth, because it had been scary enough that Dylan had put aside the fake family feud to help Ryan get inside and stop bleeding.

It had looked funny for a bit, but honestly, it’s kind of grown on Matty. Nowadays, he thinks it’s pretty cute.

Anyway.

They were wearing masks, the first time they kissed, and they both pretend that means they hadn’t known that they were kissing each other, because that’s a good excuse for kissing someone you’ve wanted to kiss since you were old enough to think about kissing.

 

 It’s not supposed to be a secret trip, but they leave at four in the morning and don’t text their parents or brothers or anyone.

“We’re 19,” Matty says. “If they want to know where we are, they can ask.”

“Hopefully I’ll know by the time they wake up,” Ryan says.

“Oh, you will,” Matty says, grinning. “It’s not that far.”

“What if I told you I hated surprises?” Ryan says.

“You’d be lying,” Matty says simply. “According to my brother, you’re very good at it.”

“Your brother doesn’t know shit.”

“That’s what I said,” Matty says. “Trust me, okay?”

“Mikey says to never trust a Strome.”

“Speaking of brothers who don’t know shit.”

Ryan grins, tired and easy, and then he says, “Fair enough.”

 

Matty doesn’t complain when Ryan falls asleep on the drive. It’s a nice, empty morning, and Ryan’s making these cute sleepy sounds that Matty can’t get enough of, if he’s being honest.

They get there as the sun’s about to rise, and Ryan wakes up as Matty’s paying for parking.

“What’s going on?” Ryan says.

“We’re here,” Matty says, closing the window as he makes his way into the near-empty lot.

“What the fuck,” Ryan says. “Is this a dream?”

“You have a lot of dreams about me?” Matty says, smirking.

“I plead the fifth,” Ryan mumbles, then sits up, rubbing at his eyes.

“Can’t,” Matty says. “We’re in Canada. I mean, barely, but.”

“Are you trying to take me across international borders?”

“Yes,” Matty says, sarcastic. “I woke you up at four in the morning to whisk you away to Buffalo, New York.”

“There are other places besides Buffalo,” Ryan says. “Wait, are we near Buffalo?”

“It’s right across the river,” Matty confirms.

“So we’re—” Ryan furrows his brow. “Huh?”

“The Falls, Ry,” Matty says. “That’s what we’re here to see.”

“Why so early?”

“Sunrise,” Matty says, shrugging.

Ryan blinks at him. “So you woke me up at four in the morning to whisk me away to Niagara Falls so we could watch the sunrise?”

“Yep.”

“That’s… not what I was expecting.”

“I mean, I can’t think of a better reason to wake up at four in the morning,” Matty says. “Sunrises are pretty lit.”

“Lit,” Ryan echoes.

“Yeah, lit,” Matty says, and then, after a second of hesitation, “or, y’know. Beautiful, or whatever.”

Ryan stares at him for a beat, then shakes his head, disbelieving. “Wow, you should be a poetry major.”

“I don’t think I’m gonna do that, but thanks for the input,” Matty says, smiling, and then he pulls into a parking spot.

They don’t really say much as they stand over the falls and watch the sun come up. Matty hasn’t seen a sunrise in a while, and he hasn’t been to the Falls since he was a kid, but it’s probably the only thing that hasn’t gotten smaller as he’s gotten older.

The Niagara Falls are, like. Pretty fucking huge.

And also, pretty remarkable.

“The water looks pink,” Ryan says.

“Yeah,” Matty says. “So does the— the steam stuff.”

“You mean the spray?”

“Spray, steam, whatever,” Matty says. “The misty stuff.”

“Most people would just call it mist,” Ryan says.

“Shut up,” Matty says, elbowing him, but the only thing in his voice is fondness. “Doesn’t matter what it’s called, it’s like, special, and pretty as fuck.”

“I can’t believe I wasted my poetry major joke earlier,” Ryan says. “This would’ve been the perfect time for it.”

“Woe is you.”

There’s a beat of silence, not uncomfortable by any means. Matty doesn’t check, but he’s pretty sure that Ryan moves closer to him, just a little, and that’s, like. Pretty nice.

“I’m not really good with words,” Matty says, looking at his feet.

Ryan hums, noncommittal. “You use them well enough. Not everyone has to be Shakespeare.”

“But then who would write the tale of Stromeo and Juliet?” Matty says.

Ryan cracks a smile. “Well, if it’s a story about us, I’d say we don’t have to write it, just live it.”

“Does that mean one of us has to die?” Matty asks.

“Probably,” Ryan says. “I nominate Mikey.”

“That’s not how the story goes.”

“Then remind me how it does go,” Ryan says. “I forget.”

“Thought we established that I’m no good with words,” Matty says.

“Then show me,” Ryan says, and then he steps right into Matty’s space.

This next part they’ve done before, but Matty wants things to be a little different this time.

So, he puts a hand on Ryan’s face, soft, and watches the way the light lands on his face, and for the first time ever, Matty kind of wishes he were better at writing, because moment, this sunrise— this is the kind of shit he could write a poem about. Fuck, he could write an entire book of poems about this, and then another book of poems about Ryan’s missing tooth, and songs and songs about the way Ryan’s hair changes color with the light.

“Matty,” Ryan says, his voice kind of soft. “What are you doing?”

“Thinking,” Matty says.

“What about?” Ryan asks.

Matty isn’t a poet, unfortunately, so he can’t tell Ryan exactly what he’s thinking about. Shakespeare had it easy, Matty thinks.

“I’ll show you,” Matty says, and that’s when he leans in.

It’s a nice kiss.

All kisses with Ryan are nice, but this one is particularly pleasant. It’s a heavier kind of nice than usual.

Again, Matty’s not that good with words.

 

They’re somewhere between Niagara and Mississauga, and Matty’s almost asleep in the passenger seat, and Ryan says, “Was this your way of asking me to be your boyfriend?”

“No,” Matty says, finding the energy to grin, even though he’s too tired to open his eyes. “I platonically whisked you away to Niagara Falls to make out at sunrise. As a bro thing.”

“You’re snarky when you’re tired,” Ryan says.

“You’re snarky literally all the time,” Matty says.

“Fair enough,” Ryan says. “You still haven’t told me if we’re boyfriends yet.”

“‘Course we are, dude,” Matty says. “Now let me sleep.”

 

Mikey isn’t home when Matty and Ryan get back to Sauga, and part of Matty is really excited to have an entire afternoon to himself with his brand-new boyfriend, but most of him is exhausted, so they crawl into bed, make out for a bit, and then fall asleep in the warmth of the late afternoon sun.

 

* * *

 

Ball hockey started because, when Mikey and Dylan were 7 and 8 years old, they wouldn’t stop arguing, and of course, that lead to a circle of Stromes and McLeods and various other Lorne Park denizens under the age of 10 yelling “Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!”

Their parents, like most parents, did not want them to fight.

So they did the Canadian thing and set up a hockey game instead, hoping that if they piled on more and more rules and supervision, the boys would just stop wanting to go up against each other once and for all.

It worked, in the sense that Mikey and Dylan realized they didn’t want to hurt each other, or risk getting hurt. Beating each other up didn’t really have any glory, especially when you were 5 or 6 or 7 or 8 and didn’t even know what fighting was, besides throwing hands at each other until an adult or referee broke you apart. Really, no kid wants to hurt another kid.

What Mikey and Dylan wanted—what Mikey and Dylan want, still—is to win.

Maybe that’s why they can’t let it go. They like comparing themselves to each other too much.

So, Strome-McLeod ball hockey lives on, a fun block party during the day that turns into a fierce competition at night. There’s usually a few all-ages rounds in the morning that the older guys supervise, and Dylan and Mikey keep their bullshit under wraps for that, but at night, they’re no-holds-barred competitors.

This year, after the usual events of the day, Ryan and Matty grab a few watermelon slices and head out down the street, tangling their fingers together as soon as they’re out of sight.

“Ew,” Ryan says. “You’re all sticky.”

Matty smirks. “You’re welcome to let go.”

Ryan just huffs, and squeezes Matty’s hand a little tighter.

“Yeah, I thought not,” Matty says. “So, where are we headed?”

“Just for a walk,” Ryan says. “Thought we could watch the sunset and avoid cleanup duty.”

“Watch the sunset here?” Matty says.

“Not all of us need to go to Niagara Falls to enjoy pretty things,” Ryan says. “Some of us can do that in our own neighborhoods.”

“Are you talking about the sunset, or me?” Matty jokes.

Ryan gives him a look, then, after a second, smiles. “You know what? Both.”

Matty laughs. “You’re such a sap.”

“I’m sorry, _I’m_ a sap?” Ryan says. “You literally threw pebbles at my window last night.”

“Yeah, but that’s my brand,” Matty says. “You don’t have feelings, so when you get emotional, it sticks out.”

“I have feelings,” Ryan protests. “I have at least three feelings. At _least._ ”

“Really,” Matty says. “I’d love to see them someday.”

“Fuck you,” Ryan says, then tugs Matty in for a kiss, easy and watermelon flavored.

They keep walking, and Matty thinks about all sorts of cheesy shit, like how Ryan’s hand was probably made to hold his, and Ryan does all sorts of cheesy shit, like gently wiping food off Matty’s face with his thumb.

It is, all in all, a very enjoyable sunset.

“We should probably get back soon,” Matty says, when the streetlamps start to turn on. “The game will probably start soon. Our brothers will come looking for us soon.”

“Let them find us,” Ryan says. “We should probably tell them soon, anyway.”

“Yeah,” Matty says. “But the issue is, once the game starts, we’re enemies again.”

“Can’t boyfriends be enemies?”

“Sure, but I feel like it’d be proving them right,” Matty says. “I’m not here for any of their bullshit, I just play hockey to win.”

“Fair,” Ryan says.

Matty puts his head on Ryan’s shoulder. “Do you wanna tell them after the game?”

“You mean, like, tonight?”

“Yeah,” Matty says, turning to look at Ryan. He’s a little bit in silhouette, so Matty can’t actually make out his expression, but he looks relaxed, like a calm kind of surprised.

“Okay,” Ryan says, nodding. “Okay.”

Even in silhouette, Matty can make out Ryan’s smile. It’s a hard one to miss, in Matty’s experience.

“So,” Matty says, “once the sun goes down, we’re temporarily enemies.”

“And that’ll be over once you lose,” Ryan says.

“What if you lose?”

“Never gonna happen.”

“Historically—”

“Okay, fine, on the off chance that you win, that will also mean we’re not enemies anymore,” Ryan says. “But statistically, this is the McLeod’s year, so.”

“Based on what?”

“The fact that we’ve lost the past three years. We’re due for a win.”

Matty snorts. “I hate to break it to you, but that’s not how statistics work.”

“Whatever,” Ryan says. “I’m not good with numbers.”

“I found your weakness,” Matty says. “You’re gonna regret telling me that when we’re enemies.”

“I really doubt that,” Ryan says dryly.

A few minutes later, they turn their backs on the final seconds of the sunset and make their way towards the game, where Mikey and Dylan are probably going way too hard with strategy, because Ryan and Matty aren’t there to hold them back.

Matty likes ball hockey. It breaks up August, which is a weird month, and it’s always marked the end of summer. It’s a nice send-off of the season, Matty thinks, and if he’s being honest with himself— like. Don’t get him wrong, he loves his family, and Lorne Park, and being here for the summer—

But honestly, all things considered, he’s pretty excited for the fall.

Matty looks at Ryan, and—

It’s like. Matty loves playing hockey, but regardless of the outcome, he probably won’t be too sad when this game ends.

**Author's Note:**

> the origin story of this fic: i was walking down the street yesterday and thought, "oh my god, _stromeo and juliet_ "


End file.
